


After Hours Appointment

by Akzeriyyuth



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Dissociation, During Canon, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Office Sex, Persona 5 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29581974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akzeriyyuth/pseuds/Akzeriyyuth
Summary: Called to Shido's office for the Okumura job, Akechi decides to flirt with the up-and-coming political leader to see if he has worked out who the Ace Detective really is, assuming if he knows, he'll show his hand.Warnings for a very screwed up Akechi, and very dubious consent as well as the obvious one which is a spoiler for everyone who doesn't know the relationship between Shido and Akechi in canon.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Shido Masayoshi
Kudos: 24





	After Hours Appointment

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, reposting this following a discussion on Twitter with regarding Shiake fics being The Great Taboo in this fandom. This was... actually the first thing I ever wrote for P5, but I suppose I am going to hell for a whole lot more since then.

Everything was gradually falling into place.

Staring at his reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator, Goro Akechi straightened his tie and ran his fingers through his hair. He immediately recognised what he was doing: calming himself, and he hated what felt like an obvious, childish tell. Years of maintaining a carefully cultivated image, every word, every intonation, even the way he _walked_ , perfectly learned and executed, and a poker face that could get him through just about anything, exuding confidence… and yet here he was, nervous, and unable to hide it from himself even in the privacy of an elevator. He hated that Shido was still his kryptonite.

Stiffly holding his hands to his sides, to stop doing anything as pathetic as _fidgeting_ , he hated himself for his nervousness as the lift ascended.

Visiting Shido always had this effect on him. Shido represented an uncontrollable, unpredictable variable; Shido was a question or a challenge thrown out of left field during in an interview, Shido was a crack in the pavement that you didn’t notice (because you were keeping an eye on your surroundings at shoulder height, while considering your next move, at the same time controlling your pace with careful, casual strides designed to let the world know you were capable and confident). Shido, however, still remained one of the few things which threatened his ability to successfully pull off the image, he made him nervous and fumbling, which aroused some need to appear even more collected in the face of the unknown. The trick was to cultivate effortlessness. The paradox was the sheer amount of focus and effort which went into it, especially when under pressure.

Goro knew Shido well enough to know what the man was capable of. In a way, their similarities were amusing. The approachable, easygoing façade, so elegantly pulled off; the short temper which lay under the surface; the bubbling, ceaseless capacity for vengeance, a bottomless pit leading into dark infinity. Whipsmart intelligence, a strategic mind, a will that wouldn’t quit, and the _chutzpah_ to walk in anywhere and command a room. It had been precisely that which had brought him back to Shido to begin with.

They’d had this _relationship_ , played this game, for just over two years now. Initially Goro had felt like a lovesick stalker, trying to make the man notice him, to _need_ him, but since Shido had learned of his abilities, and Goro had proven himself, the power balance had shifted: Shido actually _did_ need him, and with that came a degree of being taken seriously and allowed in. Shido was the academic who knew the pscience theory inside out, but due to his position, due to his real world duties, his responsibilities, and his just… _lacking_ for something, wasn’t able to _use_ the theory. Goro, on the other hand, didn’t entirely understand the fine details of the physics and how it really _worked_ , nor the finer details of how Shido’s use of him would bring about his complete domination of Japan—and then the world—but he had something else: the ability to enter the Metaverse, to command and utilise the skills of personas, and to make the things happen Shido could only fantasise about.

And that had been enough to forge a relationship between them. The 53-year-old politician and the high schooler who had somehow survived the state care system to rise up and become a teenage detective and minor celebrity.

The elevator pinged softly as Goro waited for the doors to slide open. Everything was silent and smooth; the building Shido used for his operations was the perfect metaphor for the man himself. Unseen technology, like that of the elevator doors, efficiently made things move behind the scenes; it all came together fluidly and naturally, in a way that made you just accept it without consideration.

 _It’s exactly how his public persona works, too_ , Goro thought to himself, _no one yet sees the machinations in the background, the supports that keep the whole thing propped up, the gears and cogs that move to propel him_.

 _Not yet, anyway_.

He stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hallway towards the office. It was after hours, and today had been draining: Sae seemed to be growing suspicious of him, and her desire to nail the Phantom Thieves was pushing her towards panicked, frenzied behaviour. It was very un-Sae-like, lacking her cool, sharp, stylish young success story image, and it made Goro vaguely uncomfortable. While she was clearly too distracted to start suspecting the full extent of his involvement, it gave him cause to wonder: could anything push _him_ to inadvertently letting the mask slip as she had?

Sae, in a way, was playing the exact same game he was, the same one Shido was. The only difference was that she probably wasn’t consciously aware of it.

Then there was the coffee shop. He’d initially started going to LeBlanc because Sae had mentioned it in passing, and curiosity got the better of him. Only then, he’d realised what else was there beyond a quiet atmosphere and good roast blends: it was connected to the Thieves. Coincidence had turned to fate… but also, the coffee _was_ exquisite.

With that, though, there’d been another complication: the one they called Joker. Ren Amamiya, the unsuspecting kid who’d challenged him on live television moments before Goro had learned the truth about him. Amamiya-- _Joker--_ was every bit a wild card, and something about the other teenager heightened his defences and put him on alert. It was one thing to be aware of him and his band of merry misfits in the Metaverse, it was something else to be confronted by the presence of the young man, unassuming and unaware of who he really was, in the flesh like that, somewhere as ordinary and normal as a quaint little coffee shop, and so unexpectedly.

Goro wasn’t sure whether he craved it (he certainly could have avoided LeBlanc easily enough, but chose not to) or was trying to desensitise himself to Joker’s presence. Repeated exposure, a sort of aversion therapeutic approach, he supposed.

Joker, though, clever as he was, bold as he was… was also oddly ignorant and pathetically naïve. It occurred to Goro that while he was tense and uncertain whenever he saw him, Joker probably had no misgivings or a shared sense of the awkwardness. It made the playing field uneven, and it was something he couldn’t admit to Joker for obvious reasons, and didn’t like to admit to himself.

And that’s what he’d come to discuss with Shido tonight.

This Phantom Thieves situation could be resolved in a much more hands-on fashion. With intimate, first-hand knowledge. _Living_ the experience of being a Phantom Thief, rather than just observing them from a distance and hiding in the shadows like a nervous rat.

His was a bold plan, but a challenging one, and one that he knew might teach him more about the workings of the Metaverse, grant him greater strength, give him that final edge over his nemesis.

He knocked on the door and waited, knowing the politician would still be at work, organising the shadier aspects of the job beneath the cover of darkness and time zone changes. Tokyo was heading home, New York was waking up. Shido ran on his own time which seemed to incorporate a more global view than every other local. He operated in shadows, deliberately keeping his people from knowing exactly who else was involved in the greater scheme: and this included the actions of the famed teenage detective. It was purely strategic, of course, but it wasn’t lost on Goro that he was, yet again, Shido’s dirty little secret, something to be relegated to afterhours appointments, lest anyone _important_ see him. It stung, but it just provided another motivation to destroy the man at his peak.

“Come in.” From the tone, Shido knew exactly who was waiting outside for him.

Goro opened the door, resisting the urge to straighten his tie once again, and stepped into the spacious office. Outside, the neon lights of Tokyo created a stunning backdrop behind Shido’s desk; it was mesmerising. Goro had been in the office many times, but the beauty of it never failed to impress him. Shido, typically, had his back to it, eyes on the papers in front of him.

“Shido-san.”

It was enough to make the older man look up with irritation. His dark eyes twinkled menacingly behind his glasses, like shards of a broken bottle.

“I thought I told you not to call me that.”

He’d gotten his attention.

“I didn’t realise it was an issue when I came to visit, but I’ll keep that in mind for next time, sir.”

“What do you want?”

His voice had softened ever so slightly, and in a telling sort of way that Goro knew _really_ meant, “What are you offering to do next?”

It was remarkable how easily Shido gave himself and his dependence away like that, and it caused Goro to smile slightly.

“It’s funny you should ask that; I was wondering if you needed me to do anything for _you_ , sir. I came to discuss something as well. I have an idea I wish to discuss with you.”

In a way, it was all so easy; Shido was the simplest audience to play to. Just flatter the man, kiss his ass a bit, simper without showing him the whites of your eyes, and let him believe he had the upper hand, and he was like putty in your own.

Clearly Shido had been thinking about the situation, too, because before Goro could start talking about his idea involving the Thieves, he was already starting. 

"I trust you've been watching the online activity?"

Goro nodded.

"It seems that the poll on the Phantom Thieves’ little website is suggesting that Kunikazu Okumura would be a suitable target of late… which is coincidental, if you consider things…”

Goro wasn’t entirely sure _how_ it was coincidental or what Shido’s issue with the CEO actually was, but he understood the implication. He nodded. “I’ll find the palace,” was all he said. “And do whatever you deem necessary.”

“That would be appreciated. I’m not at liberty to discuss the matter, but Okumura’s actions of late have been of concern to myself and others.” The undertone in his voice clearly suggested _if you know what I mean_.

“I’ll take the necessary actions, sir.”

“Good.”

That was settlement, and somehow he hadn’t managed to mention his idea about working his way into joining the Phantom Thieves for intel. It was typical Shido: short, sharp, concise and controlling in his dealings. The conversation was over.

Shido had already stepped up from his desk, rolling his chair back as he stood, and he walked over to the small bar in the bottom segment of the shelving to the left of the office. Removing two glasses and a bottle of whiskey, he poured a drink for both of them, and motioned for Goro to join him.

It always felt like a contract being signed when Shido did this; he’d seen it happen so many times in the past that it had become ritual. An office meeting. A name. An acknowledgement of what needed to be done. A celebratory drink in lieu of signed paperwork or a handshake. 

Of course, to Goro, it was yet another nail in the coffin. Shido still seemed oblivious to his true identity, and amusingly had taken on an almost fatherly role in addition to that of employer upon learning that Goro was an orphan. When he learned that the young man had no fixed address, he solved that with the apartment. He offered to pay the rent so he could live close by and could easily get to school. He used his influence and connections to help Goro become the Junior Ace Detective, to get appearances on television, to become a figure of public interest, help him gain _cred_. It was equally amusing and disgusting that he was willing to do all this for a random teenager who'd shown some promise, yet he couldn't even acknowledge the existence of his own son.

Of course, Goro knew it came with the Faustian deal of having to do what he needed to in the Metaverse to earn his keep, but that again would be another strike against him when he was brought down eventually.

Facilitating and encouraging underage drinking was something else that had been happening for the past few years, and Goro had wondered just how many _more_ damning interactions he could tally against his father. Of course Shido was smart enough to do all this behind closed doors, but closed doors weren’t impervious to recordings which could later be anonymously released, or gossip which could travel through the grapevine and eventually make it to centre stage.

He raised his glass with his employer-mentor-father-whatever-the-fuck the man was, as Shido uttered, “To mutual success and victory.” They tapped glasses before tending to their consumption.

Goro smiled again, sipping the golden liquid. Whiskey was something he was undecided on. He’d tried other alcoholic beverages before, and decided that they did little for him, just as he’d consumed LeBlanc coffee and savoured it. Whiskey left him feeling ambivalent, though; he wasn’t _sure_ if he enjoyed it or not. There was the strong alcoholic hue to it, but also the rich smokiness, and the sense that it somehow made him feel more suave and debonair when drinking it, like he was for once being taken seriously as an adult. Goro didn’t feel like a teenager most days; he’d aged a lifetime over his childhood. It always seemed insulting that to most people, he was merely a child.

Shido took a hearty gulp of his drink— _tacky_ , Goro thought, he didn’t savour the taste at all—and gave him a very specific kind of look. He couldn’t completely place it; something between triumph and satisfaction, a charming kind of arrogance that the man never revealed in public, the satisfied grin of a predator revealing sharpened teeth. Goro smiled back, taking another sip of his own drink, letting the liquid rest on his tongue before swallowing it. Their eyes met in what might have been mutual understanding or a secret battle of wills.

“You look well,” Shido said non-committally. “And if you’ve been getting up to anything scandalous, you’ve managed to hide it well.”

Goro smirked. “I’m sure you don’t have time to keep tabs on my mundane existence.”

Shido chuckled. “Is this a confession, then? You certainly have your pick of the fangirls, don’t you? You’re almost as popular as the Phantom Thieves these days.”

Goro felt himself tense at the comparison, and thought about his idea. Maybe best to leave it on the table and mention it after Okumura had been dealt with.

“I assure you, sir, it is most certainly _not_ a confession. The fangirls and their vapid enthusiasm do nothing at all for me.”

Shido raised an eyebrow. “Really? Most men wouldn’t know what to do with all that attention from the female population. You certainly know how to charm them.”

It was a challenge. It was something that he had hinted at before in their discussions, something never confirmed, something even Goro hadn’t spoken aloud to anyone.

“Well, you could say I learned from the best, didn’t I?” Their eyes were still on one another’s, in a way that could have been reaching for information from one another, or striving for dominance, or could have been something else entirely.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t flirted with Shido before. Shido served as a guineapig for testing his charisma, and flirting with him was a litmus test to see if Shido knew of their actual relationship.

Each time, Shido had failed with flying colours, but there had always been some sort of intervening force stopping any definite confirmation. Thinking about it now, some of those interventions had been from Shido himself (“I would love to stay talking, but I have a meeting…”) or entirely coincidental (a phone call, an urgent request, another scandal which needed to be addressed). But in the middle of the night, before the other side of the world was sufficiently caffeinated, and without any press conferences or meetings to attend, there was nothing in the way.

“You seem to underestimate your own charm, Akechi-kun.” Shido reached across and casually tousled Goro’s hair. “Women love a handsome face and a stylish haircut.” He chuckled. “That’s why I have work a bit harder on my public speaking.”

Goro could feel his heart racing as he tried to analyse what had just happened. Was this self-deprecating banter or was this something more? Shido’s gaze hadn’t shifted from his own, and the air around them felt charged with something he couldn’t quite describe. The sheer absurdity of what he was doing was something he’d considered before; he assumed if Shido knew of their relationship, he’d be sensible and disgusted enough to push him away. If he _didn’t_ , that would open an opportunity for blackmail, a final damning move which would completely destroy Shido at the apex of his success if revealed at the perfect moment. Corruption, bribery, murder, even: they could be excused and denied or explained away in a manner that sleeping with your son could not.

He exhaled, not breaking his gaze. Picking up his glass, and taking a sip, he responded. “I don’t think there’s any room for improvement at all, Shido-san.”

“There’s _always_ room for improvement.” So typical of him, he was slipping back into his public speaking mode. “We can _all_ strive to do better, Goro.”

Neither had looked away from the other, and Goro considered the situation. There was no mistaking the intensity between them now, the older man’s dark brown eyes hungering and alight with interest behind his tinted glasses. But would he act? Was his reluctance wrapped up more in the idea that a _sexual harassment_ scandal, or a _homosexual_ scandal was something Shido was concerned about? Rather than him being aware of their shared DNA?

He decided to test the waters for himself.

His heart was racing with a strange combination of feelings: apprehension, mild terror, awkwardness, and disgust at what he was about to do, as well as a strange disconnection. Intellectually, he knew what Shido was. He also knew that Shido managed to _also_ be a complete non-entity, that he’d never acknowledged, let alone accepted his role as a father. The man could be a complete stranger, and the whole thing wouldn’t matter. The thing that made it so devastating-- and so _wrong_ was that despite the lack of even acknowledgement, Shido _was_ his father. 

As a human being, Goro hated the man. The idea of flirting with him was repugnant because of what he was… but also what he wasn’t. If he’d grown up normally, the idea of doing this with a parent would be morally wrong rather than merely disgusting… but thanks to Shido's actions, beyond those few years with his mother, he’d never actually _had_ a parent.

He swallowed hard, his eyes still on Shido’s, Shido’s expression of anticipation growing more obvious as he moved closer.

He’d thought about this before. Somehow mentally resolved the weirdness and wrongness of the idea; if Shido pulled away and stated his identity, that would be awkward, but it would be acknowledgement, and an indication that Goro could hate him even more for his refusal to mention it up until now. If he moved away in disgust, that would be embarrassing but probably easy to patch up somehow.

He didn’t pull back.

Goro felt the next few seconds feel drawn out and extended: it didn’t take _that_ long for his eyes to close, for his hands to grab the other’s shoulders, for their lips to meet in what should have felt a lot more awkward and less aggressive than it did.

He felt divided, as he yielded to Shido’s kiss.

_Shido has no idea he’s my father. I am creating yet another piece of damning evidence against the useless piece of shit._

_I_ _will destroy him!_

Then there was the _physical_ him; the him that had somehow detached and dissociated from what was actually happening in the movement, who wasn’t entirely aware that Shido’s tongue was still in his mouth, his hands in his hair, the smell of his cologne filling his nostrils like the overwhelming stench of smoke coming from inside your own house.

He could think about this later, he decided, as Shido pushed him down onto the sofa next to the shelving. He might even be able to convince Shido to pay for the therapy it would take to address this.

Shido definitely seemed unaware of the situation that lay beneath their roles as mentor and assassin. It was oddly comforting knowing that he was clueless and didn’t actually have the upper hand here, and something about _that_ was wildly exciting to Goro. He shifted on the stiff cushions, as Shido’s hands began greedily snaking their way under his clothing.

_Endure. Endure. Endure._

He was conflicted. Obviously this wasn’t about love, or even sexual desire; at base level, it was disgusting. But there was something undeniably exciting about turning someone who was a master manipulator, a convincer of the masses, all polished image and suave slogans, into a desperate, handsy, depraved letch who was practically clawing his way into his pants and up his shirt, and doing it so damned quickly.

It was having _power_. It was having the ability to put someone at your mercy; it was, in a way, _exactly_ what it would feel like to topple the man, publicly, crushingly, just after the election. This wasn’t some silly schoolgirl with a crush on an idol, this was an intelligent strategist with a lot to lose, falling to pieces and acting like a pathetic teenager in the back seat of his dad’s car.

Doing _that_ to someone, having that influence over them? It was like sending someone crazy. Only so much better; this was so much more humiliating and _personal_ and _real_ than messing with a random target in the Metaverse.

He yielded to Shiro’s kiss as the politician roughly tugged down on his slacks, pushing him deeper into the sofa. At eighteen, Goro had little experience in this area: his single-minded focus on the goal—surviving, succeeding, getting in with Shido only to take him down—dominated every aspect of his life, leaving limited time for other pursuits. And then there was the simple reality that anyone he chose to… _do something like this with_ needed to be of a particular standard. So far, few had come close to meeting it well enough to hold Goro’s interest.

Combining this with the activities he needed to maintain to pass as sufficiently human, an intensive study schedule and public appearances, not to mention his odd jobs for Shido, there wasn’t much time to play the field. And denying himself was good for his image: no threat of scandals, plus it added to the charm and the mystery: _What type does the Ace Detective like?_ Fans could speculate as much as they wanted, rarely getting any of it right: “Does Akechi-kun like cute girls or serious girls? Does Akechi-kun like girls who flirt or girls who are shy?”

Never mind that Akechi-kun didn’t like girls in that way whatsoever.

He gasped as Shido unceremoniously yanked down his pants and grabbed his cock. Yes, he was aroused, yes, in a way this felt good, but the way Shido stroked him was _wrong_. It wasn’t like when he pleasured himself under the cover of darkness in the privacy of his own room; slow laborious strokes gradually building up to frenzied movement for a satisfying climax as his mind decided to rest on whatever was fantasy of the moment. Humiliating and killing Shido had played on repeat for years now, though since observing the Phantom Thieves, the fantasies became more varied. The punk athlete with all his aggression and vulgarity, needing to be put in his place. The pretty, fey artist who needed to be shaken into reality and hungered for direction. And _Joker_ : the one with the initially unimpressive appearance, who was like a complex, sophisticated puzzle; the closer one looked, the more you realised the beauty and the elegance and the potential.

It frustrated him and he was forever tongue-tied and awkward when he saw the fluffy-haired student in his day-to-day life, but Joker felt almost like something of an equal. Goro was terrified of him, mesmerised by him, and fascinated with him, though unsure what he wanted to _do_ with him. Put him in his place and uncompromisingly own him, triumphing over him, seduce him and unravel him slowly, reducing the Thieves’ mastermind leader to a depraved, wanton mess, or something far more innocent and tender? In the freedom of his mind, the fantasies were infinite.

Reality was far more brutal, far messier, and a lot more awkward.

Shido pulled away from the kiss, allowing him the welcome respite of fresh air, and Goro inhaled deeply, grateful for the break. He watched as the politician ran the tips of his fingers over his bottom lip, moistening them with saliva, before returning to his heavy-handed strokes.

“I didn’t expect this from you.”

Goro didn’t know what to say. He was caught in the headlights; thinking about it now, he wasn’t sure he expected this of Shido, either, privately suspecting the man had known all along his motives and having realised their blood relation. He assumed Shido would have put a stop to this rather than moved along with it.

He hissed when Shido squeezed him roughly again, rubbing precum over his fingertips and massaging it behind his balls in a perfunctory, completely spartan manner. His heart raced; he was aroused… but he was also aware of what Shido was intending, and somewhat terrified, given the man’s general lack of sensitivity in the whole matter. Gasping and jerking back as a finger was pushed into him roughly, he almost wanted Shido to comment in some way, so acknowledge what he was doing. He didn’t; the focus seemed to be on his own actions, as though Goro himself were just a _thing,_ as though foreplay, if that's what this even passed as, served one purpose: a brief warm up for the main event _._

_Was this how he treated her…?_

A cold terror flooded through him, and his voice got lost somewhere in the back of his throat, behind the rock which had somehow developed in there. When he was a kid, there was a time when a classmate took pity on him for being That Kid, the sad, neglected, precocious little loner with the mother who never turned up to nursery school functions. The other boy’s family had invited him to the swimming pool for a day out. The part that stuck with Goro, and the part that he was recalling in the moment, was his “friend” holding his head underwater. The pressure was intense; he wanted to scream but he could not. He wasn’t sure how long he could not breathe for.

He felt like he was underwater again. That this was a gesture of playfulness where the other party didn’t realise their own strength and that he should have been grateful for the attention. Yet all he wanted to do was scream, while physically unable to.

He’d wanted this after all, hadn’t he?

He barely noticed Shido removing his slacks now; it was the little details that he focussed on; Shido’s jagged breath and the hostile tang of cologne that probably was meant to smell dynamic and successful, but smelt sour and stale instead. He was aware of his body being shifted and manoeuvred and Shido’s force keeping him in place, like a butterfly being pinned to a board.

He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. Asking Shido to slow down or stop probably wasn’t going to have any kind of positive outcome, trying to seduce him into at least being a bit more tender and controlled seemed fruitless. Telling Shido what to do was never an option, no matter who you were. Struggling away was pointless: in all the time he’d known Shido, he’d somehow been stupid enough to miss the man’s physical strength beneath the suits and the casual man-of-the-people façade. There was no fighting back, no ending this.

He’d seen Shido in a bad mood. He’d killed for Shido. Obviously Shido couldn’t do anything worse to him than _that_ , but there was nothing he could do to defend himself in this situation.

He’d read somewhere that cats often purred when they were stressed; that the purring was an attempt to self-soothe and convince themselves that they were calm, and that it actually had that effect on them; and he wished he could do that, as Shido began thrusting into him more roughly, his other hand still jerking him viciously.

...The Phantom Thieves had that cat with them, didn’t they? The cat had been his tip off that something was up with them; the damn thing _talked_. While it was a cat, it was also decidedly _like people_ , in a way that no one else seemed to pick up on. The cat had been enough to pique his curiosity, and it had lead him to the truth, hadn’t it?

Shido returned to kissing him again, his tongue aggressively moving around in his mouth with the same lack of concern as his hands had. Goro breathed through his nose and moved sharply as Shido readjusted himself, mercifully removing his fingers for a moment, only to—

The yelp was automatic, and he jumped backwards, exhausted and terrified and defeated. He hadn’t expected any of it would have been like _this_.

“You need to relax,” Shido said, his words an instruction to a subordinate, rather than containing any sort of concern or empathy.

_Force myself to relax… the quicker I relax, the quicker all this finishes._

He closed his eyes in the hope that it would somehow blunt the horror. No such luck, and Shido showed no sign of relenting. Rather, his movement had sped up, and he thrust into him aggressively, as Goro opened his eyes again, ready to scream, silenced as Shido’s mouth descended upon his once more.

He didn’t know how long it continued. It felt like slow motion, it might have been seconds or minutes, it could have been another half hour of gasping for air and trying to struggle against the body invading his own, alarmingly bigger and rougher than he'd assumed it would be.

He was aware he’d switched off some part of his mind by focussing on the small details—Shido’s gasps and hot breath, the prickly fabric of the sofa cushions grazing against his back as he was pushed into the rough cushions, the moisture of tears running down the sides of his face. The pain coming at him from multiple angles, Shido’s fist in his hair, yanking him upwards as he continued the unrelenting frenzy.

It occurred to him that Shido wasn’t doing this out of aggression or any desire to punish him; it was merely how Shido _,_ how he saw other people; things to be used for his own gratification. It didn't make him feel better or worse; it was just how he _was_ , though regardless, it felt awful being on the receiving end. As Shido shuddered within him and pushed him against the sofa once more, his body quivering before the final release, his breaths hurried gasps, the notion that he was completely indifferent to Goro—to how he was feeling, to his _consent_ , even-- in some way that added another layer of hurt and disgust to how he was feeling.

_He is fucking me in his office, and I am still nothing to him._

As Shido slowed and withdrew, collapsing on top of him, a small voice in his mind was telling him that yes, this _was_ rape, even if some other part of him, the part that was still shocked and in physical pain and horrified by what had happened, wanted to minimise it somehow— _I'd asked for it, after all_....

His thoughts spiralled, but his sense of urgency to just _get up_ , to go home, to shower and find safety in the darkness of his own apartment with the door locked was paramount. He needed to get away from this. He needed it over. Hell if he knew how he'd actually deal with this afterwards, but he needed to be gone from here as quickly as possible. 

When Shido’s breathing returned to normal, the politician grinned.

“That was unexpected,” he said. So casual. So _amused_. “I wasn’t aware you were like that.”

Goro flinched against the chair, incredulous. Shido's lack of any kind of self-awareness-- let alone awareness of, well, _his_ state, was staggering.

_...Was this what he did to her, too?_

The voice in his mind chastised him; he shouldn’t be thinking about this right now; he needed to get out of here, to get to safety and security, to push this entire event down to that distant furnace.

Later on, he knew he’d regret not trying to fight back, conveniently underestimating Shido’s strength and his own terror at what was happening. He'd probably blame himself, hate himself a bit more, realise it was _yet another_ thing to break him down a bit more, make him a lot harder, a lot more guarded, and a little less human and a lot less worthy. He would deal with that _later._

He stilled his breathing, wiped had hand over his face, ran a hand through his hair. Everything ached. He felt disgusting; used and sweaty and sore and sick. But he _had_ to get up, to get out of here.

He watched, in a dazed kind of way as Shido pulled up his pants, tucking his shirt in, barely looking at him, and walked to his desk in search of a cigarette. What now? It felt like he was merely an observer, as though he was watching this happen to someone else. Gingerly, he pulled his own trousers up, promising himself that the first thing he would do when he got back home was shower, scrubbing every trace of the event and Shido from his body. He tucked his shirt in. Shido remained at his desk, unaware, a lit cigarette in one hand as he pored over the tablet in front of him and turned to his phone.

“I’ll get my driver to drop you off,” he said blithely. “Thank you for a most enjoyable evening.”

And that was it.

Goro remained seated on the sofa in disbelief, watching, as Shido, not even looking at him, dialled his driver, hung up, and then accepted a call from one of his associates in London.

He tentatively stood up, desperate to not show just _how_ much pain he was in; he’d seen some heavy damage in the Metaverse, taken some himself; this was on an entirely different level. Usually some painkillers and a decent sleep alleviated even the worst of the injuries he and his personas had endured; eating some devil fruit and slapping on some adhesives wasn’t going to fix this.

He stood and waited. He never wanted to sit on that sofa again if he could help it, and he worried; if he didn't stand up now, if he buckled and his pain and exhaustion cause him to stay seated, would he _ever_ get up? He didn't want to risk it. 

There was a knock on the door to announce the arrival of the driver, and Goro walked past Shido’s desk. He at least halted the phone conversation he was involved with—“I’ll be in contact. Keep your phone on.”

And then Goro opened the door, stepped out, and that was it.

He couldn’t look at himself in the mirrored reflective panels in the elevator, and the driver, professional, discreet, smart enough to not mention what was probably perfectly obvious—Goro could _smell_ him in his sweat—didn’t make eye contact. It was better this way; he wasn’t sure if it was worse to be treated as an object rather than a child, just one of the boss’ pastimes rather than some sort of precocious-- and useless-- prince.

He wordlessly slipped into the back of the darkened car, and stared out the window. He could not let this become his undoing.

He had a job to do, he had at least confirmed that Shido still had no idea who he was, and he had a palace to discover and a plan to come up with. It then occurred to him that he hadn’t bothered mentioning to Shido that he was planning on getting more intimately acquainted with the Phantom Thieves, winning their trust for awhile, and it could help him discover how to access Okumura’s palace. Maybe it could give him an edge on the Shido situation, too. He was glad he hadn't discussed it, in hindsight: it was like a card hidden up his sleeve that his employer wasn't aware of. He had to plan, to do this properly, to get back to the task at hand, and he knew it. There was no time to feel sorry for himself or to slow down. 

His own feelings on the matter, the sensations coursing through him—the exhaustion and the pain— would be set aside as always. He’d done it so many times before, it had become second nature to him... this was just a new level of sensation to set aside. It felt like a brutal reality that he grew stronger only in response to his personal devastation. He would deal with it. He’d endure. He’d _triumph_. Because that was the only thing he _could_ do.

But now, he had another solid reason to destroy Shido.

He stared into the neon lights of the city in the distance glowing in the darkness as the car smoothly made its way through the Tokyo streets.

Revenge was going to be beautiful. 


End file.
